Gate's Mirror
by JxmmyDodger
Summary: The rules of reality never really seemed to apply to Harry Potter. He always seemed to be the exception, be it through death or otherwise. Suppose it shouldn't exactly come as a surprise that the laws of time worked itself into that category… ((Time-Travel/Redo Fanfiction. No pairings as of yet!))
1. Chapter 1

_Hello, dear readers, and welcome to my first—posted—fanfiction upon this account. Although I've experience many other fandoms whilst writing fanfiction (all deleted from the internet out of pure shame) this will be the first for the Harry Potter fandom. And as such, I implore you to be forgiving for any mistakes (be it spelling or general fandom information) within this story._

_Furthermore, no relationships have been set as of yet. But I will certainly be more than happy to listen to any suggestions. This said I in no way ship Harry/Ginny and do not enjoy reading or writing it. So if you came strictly for that, I'm sorry to disappoint. Another note on the relationship option, I'm rather the hardcore slash-shipper throughout this fandom, and if you recommend one that I enjoy (which is most of them, to be quite honest with you) I'd more than likely produce it throughout this story._

Anyway_ I'll give you my most sincere apologies for the painfully long authors note, even though it's more than likely that sixty percent of you would've skipped this by now. However, I just wish to inform you that it will never be matching in length (hopefully) as much as this one throughout future chapters._

_Until we speak (Write? Read?) again, readers…_

_\- JxmmyDodger_

_**Disclaimer: I neither own nor claim to own the Harry Potter franchise, no matter how many times I've 'wished upon a star'.**_

* * *

It was a highly well-known fact that in the wizarding world, artefacts were prominent throughout their esteemed community—although most profound items found themselves owned by philosophical (and rather pompous) Pureblood Wizards. In fact it was unlikely that any wealthy wizarding family didn't have some type of rare-one-of-a-kind item, be it passed down through the generations or otherwise. But be this as it may, most of these unique furniture, jewellery, scrolls and objects would usually find their resting place in a heavily guarded vault, or sparsely displayed within a fervent manor. Constantly on display for the visitors to the owning family to see.

These factors were once again widely known and accepted by most of the general public. But like everything, the exception of these facts seemed to be the opposite for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. For most of the original items, books, carvings and equipment were fitted gladly in their inventive placing. Constantly being gazed by several generations of young witches and wizards.

However, some were sealed away in a hidden room. Not like an Easter-Egg that could be found in muggle based video games, strictly placed so only the most inquisitive students or teachers could find them. Most examples being the Chamber of Secrets, the Room of Requirement or even the secret passageways that littered the castle. No, these items were locked away for the safety of the general public, for if they were used incorrectly it could shape the entire wizarding world as they know it.

In fact, one of those isolated, and one of the oldest object was the Speculum Abhinc—an object discreetly placed within a restage room. The projection of it somewhat faded. Albeit it wasn't too well known throughout the general public, in fact, a person could very well count on their hands as to the amount of books it was referenced in. So it wouldn't come to no surprise why no one had sort out for the item, or even knew of its very existence.

But unknown, uncharted, unpredicted things have always seemed to wriggle its way into a certain wizard's life. That was one of many, many downsides to this person's dangerous, and overzealous lifestyle.

And, it's through these explained facts as to how a new journey intends to take place. Promising the affected to face various difficult decisions to be made by one very, very influential person. That person, the one who will be affected most by these changes, just so happened to be named Harry James Potter.

* * *

In the dead of night the halls within Hogwarts were silent, the only sounds being that of the fire strictly contained within the somewhat medieval torches that occasionally were placed upon the wall. In fact if there was anyone daring to be out after curfew, they would never suspect that someone was lurking in the darkened corridor. For no matter where they looked, no evidence of a teacher or student would be found.

Despite these deductions, the metaphorical person would be wrong—for there was, in fact, a student out of bed, draped safely under the confounds of an invisibility cloak. His wand firmly clenched within his pale, bony hand. Using the simple—and rather useful—spell, Lumos.

This misbehaving student was the one and only, Harry James Potter. He was back in his seventh year at the wondrous school—now that the defeat of Voldemort (and various other Death Eaters) ensured his safety for a while. Although the bearing guilt of those who died for his cause would seemingly never be vanquished.

As the pupil drew closer towards his destination, a silent plea was being constantly repeated throughout his mind. For the room, he was searching for would only appear to those in need.

"I need somewhere to think… to think of my mistakes," he muttered aloud, his voice barely audible. Harry took another step forward, watching with a small grin as a door slowly appeared on the once blank, wall. In one swift movement, he removed the cloak that shrouded his body and walked towards the door. With a loud huff he pushed the door open, eyes curiously glancing at the contents.

Harry's eyes shifted across the room, confusion clearly growing within him. Within the small room was nothing but one item. Everything else was bare. There were no windows, wall decorations of furniture. Only a narrow hallway style dividers leading towards one item at the end. And that item was a mirror. The frame looked quite old, it's once brightly lit silver frame now dulled with time. However the mirror itself was fine, only covered with a light layer of dust.

With a scowl firmly plastered across his face, Harry slowly walked towards the mirror. His head tilting to the side in thought. In a hasty movement he reached his hand out, gently rubbing his palm against the glass. Wiping away the dust that covered it. However, he found that the more he pressed his hand against the fragile glass, the more it continued to darken. At this realisation Harry's frown instantly increased, and a loud growl escaped his lips. Frustrated the young wizard pressed both hands against the mirror, desiring to break the stupid piece of furniture. However this desire did not continue, for the moment his skin came in contact with the glass it immediately pulled him in.

"W…What the hell?" Harry whispered in shock, his vision darkening whilst his body was pulled into the mirror. Never to be seen in this time again.


	2. Chapter 2

_I'd like to thank everyone who clicked on this story and proceeded to follow/favourite. I was a bit disheartened from the lack of feedback from you, but that doesn't entirely matter. This won't falter my attitude for this story, I wrote this fanfiction for my own personal enjoyment—people reviewing and reading it are just a bonus to my day._

_This is more of a filler chapter then anything, things will get far more interesting in the next two or three chapters. In addition to this, I should be updating later today (or early tomorrow). Once again I apologise for grammar or spelling mistakes, I don't have a beta. (However if one of you wish to help me edit this it would be greatly appreciated)._

**Disclaimer: I don't own nor claim to own Harry Potter.**

* * *

With limited movements similar to the speed of a sloth, Harry Potter slowly opened his eyes, a small frown hastily nestling itself across his features. Sitting his body up the young wizard evaluated his current setting, eyes widening at the familiar room. It was the cupboard—not any old cupboard—his cupboard.

The one under the stairs, in Privet Drive, house number four.

What the hell did that bloody mirror do to him? How could he be here?

Drawing a deep, shaken breath in. The Boy Who Lived sat up off the poor excuse for a bed, his feet landing gingerly on the floor below him. Was it all a dream then? Was Hogwarts just a figment of his mind? His brows knitted together in thought, eyes trailing over a spider creating a well-manufactured web.

Was it all just an imaginary land that his mind had created to escape the awful, and dreaded Dursley's? Although he'd certainly heard stories (…even if they were told in his past [future?] life…) that sometimes children created imaginary worlds in order to escape reality. That surely couldn't be the case here, it was much too violent to be fake.

Right?

In his panic the small boy reached towards his forehead, fingers tracing along the lightning shaped scar. Jerking his head up, Harry started to hear footsteps hastily getting closer.

"Get up, freak," Harry heard a familiar, screeching voice sound. The owner of the voice—Petunia—was now furiously knocking at his cupboard door, before a clicking noise erupted the room, notifying him that the door had been unlocked. "You've had enough of a sleep in."

Sighing loudly he began to glare hatefully towards the cupboard door. It seemed that the Dursley's were as bad as he'd remembered then. With a less than rapid movement, Harry walked towards the door. Opening it in one swift motion. Immediately a smell ran up the small boy's nostrils, causing his nose to wrinkle with distaste. It was an unpleasant odor to say the least. Dragging his feet across the floor he noticed that the smell increased until the kitchen was in sight.

Harry's eyes instantly locked onto a large metal tub in the sink, one that he thought looked familiar. With an uneasy expression, he slowly moved towards it, until he could clearly see the buckets contents. Eyes widening he gazed at the oversized clothes swimming in the grey water, the same grey clothes he'd remembered his Aunt dyed for him before.

The same day that he'd received his first Hogwarts letter.

"That's your school uniform," Aunt Petunia informed him with a vile expression, the sneering voice drawing Harry from his thoughts. Frowning his eyes didn't falter away from the tub, he remembered this—it happened a couple of weeks after the incident at the zoo. How was this possible? It couldn't be that the mirror somehow transported him into his eleven-year-old body. Lifting his right hand towards his left forearm, he pinched himself. Instantly wincing at the jolt of pain wafting through his appendage. Suddenly a realisation caused him to jerk his head forward, eyes widening at the possibilities.

Maybe this was it, a second chance. This time he could get it right—no one had to die. Not Sirius, Dumbledore or Snape. Heck—not even Cedric!

"You best wipe that stupid expression from your face if you know what's best for you," his aunt snapped at him before she turned towards the other side of the kitchen. "You should be grateful that I'm taking the time to dye them. They'll look exactly like everyone else's when I'm finished with them."

Despite his current mental shock, Harry resisted the urge to snort sarcastically at his aunt's statement. He'd remembered exactly what they turned out to look like. In fact, the clothes could be mistaken for the skin of a dreary elephant. He was glad that he wouldn't have to wear them—well if Hogwarts actually existed, that is. Still in shock he moved towards the dining table, thinking carefully about his current situation.

He could change everything for the better—he had the clear advantage for what's to come—there didn't have to be a second war. Hogwarts wouldn't have to be rebuilt, the Burrow would still be intact and Voldemort could be stopped before he became a problem. However the underlining problem still remained, how was he supposed to explain this to someone? No one would believe him. Harry didn't believe himself. In his opinion, this seemed far too farfetched.

Once again he was drawn away from his musings as Dudley, followed closely by his Uncle Vernon, walked into the kitchen. He noted that their faces were crinkled in disgust at the foul smell, before complaining loudly about the inconvenience. Harry observed as they sat on the table before remembering past events, wondering if they'd perform the same actions of the same day in his head. Expectantly Vernon reached towards the newspaper, the reading material hiding his overly large head from view.

Dudley picked up his breakfast from the large helpings on the table, as he banged his Smeltings stick on the floor. With a hungered expression, Harry watched as his cousin poured vast amounts of food onto his own plate and dreaded that he'd have to wait for his helpings. The young wizard fully remembered the rules here—sometimes in his older body he still fell into the habits forced on him in early childhood—and was fully aware that he could only eat the leftovers.

With an anxious expression, he waited to hear the sound of the letter-box clicking, notifying them when the post had arrived. It was a full twenty minutes until this happened.

"Get the post, Dudley," Uncle Vernon demanded from his place behind the paper, hands gesturing towards the hall behind him.

"Make Harry get it!" His cousin wailed loudly, slamming his Smeltings stick onto the floor loudly. The sound wafted through the house, creating somewhat of an echo.

"Get the post, Harry," the older Dursley commended, his booming voice sending shivers down his spine. In an energetic movement, Harry slipped off his chair, walking towards the hall. The excitement was bubbling within him, desperately hoping that his letter was here. This would prove that it wasn't all just a morbid dream. As he expected three things lay on the doormat, a postcard (from Vernon's sister Marge, who was holidaying on the Isle of Wight), a brown muggle envelope (most likely a bill)—and a letter. Harry's Hogwarts letter. Hastily he picked it up, eyes running over the parchment covering.

**_Mr H. Potter_**

**_The Cupboard under the Stairs_**

**_4 Privet Drive_**

**_Little Whinging_**

**_Surrey._**

As he remembered the writing was written in a beautiful coloured green, the handwriting only complimenting it more. It was covered in a yellow-hued parchment, and the envelope was thick and heavy. Wasting no time the wizard jammed the letter through the cracks of his cupboard, where he could safely access it later.

"Hurry up, boy!" shouted a loud booming voice from the kitchen, before he heard another inpatient grumbled laugh. "What are you doing, checking for letter bombs?"

If Harry wasn't too caught up in his excitement he would've replied that yes, he was looking for letter bombs and that there was one here. However, he was simply too overjoyed at this revelation. He had a second chance, and he wasn't going to waste it.

* * *

Harry didn't end up eating breakfast that day—it turned out that Dudley was extra hungry and demanded that he'd have the rest of the food. Of course his dreadful parents agreed with his statement, their little Dudders was a growing boy after all. Harry didn't really mind, he was sure he'd get something to eat later.

However instead for the rest of the day Harry found himself spending most of his time completing chores. They mainly consisted of gardening, sweeping and laundry work. It seemed simple enough in his head—he thought he'd be finished by lunch, then he'd be able to eat—however, that didn't seem to be the case.

After being away from his 'loving' family during his time before, Harry had forgotten how hard these chores were. They quickly wore all energy levels in his weak eleven-year-old body, especially since he had limited rations. He'd completely forgotten what it had felt like to be so drained—no wonder he ended up short when he was older. Most of his energy given from food was used to complete his chores, and not to grow.

Despite this revealed fact, when he went to wash Vernon and Petunia's clothing he dug through their pockets, looking for loose bits of change. Although he didn't find very much, it was better than nothing. Harry just hoped he could find some more, so he could go to Diagon Alley without the Dursley's being informed.

With an audible sigh, Harry decided to look through Dudley's pockets, hoping he had some change from his allowance.

To his surprise when he looked through the large pockets he found a wallet full of his cousin's savings. Smirking to himself he quickly removed the muggle currency into his own pockets, before disposing of the leather wallet on the laundry table.

It seemed his plans would work. Tomorrow morning he'd wake up before the Dursley's, catch a public bus (or taxi cab, although that could provide unwanted suspicion) and head to Diagon Alley to collect his school items.

* * *

**_IMPORTANT QUESTION:_**

**_What house do you want Harry to be in? _**


End file.
